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THE BIRDS' BATH by Evaleen Stein In our garden we have made Such a pretty little pool, Lined with pebbles neatly laid, Filled with water clean and cool. When the sun shines warm and high Robins cluster round its brink, Never one comes flying by But will flutter down to drink. Then they splash and splash and splash, Spattering little showers bright All around, till off they flash Singing sweetly their delight.

THE RED-BIRD by Evaleen Stein Swept lightly by the south wind The elm-leaves softly stirred, And in their pale green clusters There straightway bloomed a bird! His glossy feathers glistened With dyes as richly red As any tulip flaming From out the garden bed. But ah, unlike the tulips, In joyous strain, ere long, This red-bird flower unfolded A heart of golden song!

MAY BASKETS by Evaleen Stein Let us take our baskets early To the meadows green, While the wild-flowers still are pearly With the dewdrops' sheen. Fill them full of blossoms rosy, Violets and gay Cowslips, every pretty posy Welcoming the May. Then our lovely loads we'll carry Down the village street, On each door, with laughter merry, Hang a basket sweet. Hey-a-day-day! It is spring now, Lazy folks, awake! See the pretty things we bring now For the May-day's sake!

THE ROBIN'S BATH by Evaleen Stein A flash and flicker of dripping wings, A wet red breast that glows Bright as the newly opened bud The first red poppy shows, A sparkle of flying rainbow drops, A glint of golden sun On ruffled feathers, a snatch of song, And the robin's bath is done.





SHOWERY TIME by Evaleen Stein The April rain-drops sprinkle In cuckoo-cups of gold, And warm south winds unwrinkle The buds the peach-boughs hold. In countless fluted creases The little elm-leaves show, While white as carded fleeces The dogwood blossoms blow. A rosy robe is wrapping The early red-bud trees; But still the haws are napping, Nor heed the honey-bees. And still in lazy sleeping The apple-buds are bound, But tulip-tips are peeping From out the garden ground. And yonder, gayly swinging Upon the turning vane, A robin redbreast singing Makes merry at the rain!

EASTER EGGS by Evaleen Stein Seven little nests of hay We have made, for Easter day Is to-morrow, and you know We must have them ready, so When the Rabbit comes she'll see We expected her, that we Children tried our very best Each to make the nicest nest. One is in the lilac-bush, Near the ground--last year a thrush Built a nest there--let me see, Two are by the apple-tree, In the clover--that makes three-- One beside the playhouse door, --Three plus one, that must be four-- Two are in the tulip-bed-- Was it seven that I said? Oh, yes! six I've counted, and One is in our pile of sand. Come and see! Oh, hurry, hurry! For the Rabbit, kind and furry, Has been here again and laid Eggs in every nest we made! Purple, orange, red, and blue, Pink and green and yellow, too, Like a bunch of finest flowers Ever seen, and all are ours! And oh, _look!_ What _do_ you think! Here our names are in white ink, All spelled nicely so we know Just where every egg should go! Is it not surprising, quite, How well Easter Rabbits write?





UP, LITTLE ONES! by Evaleen Stein A robin redbreast, fluting there Upon the apple-bough, Is telling all the world how fair Are apple-blossoms now; The honey-dew its sweetness spills From cuckoo-cups, and all The crocuses and daffodils Are drest for festival! Such pretty things are to be seen, Such pleasant things to do, The April earth it is so green, The April sky so blue, The path from dawn to even-song So joyous is to-day, Up, little ones! and dance along The lilac-scented way! THE DAISIES by Bliss Carman Over the shoulders and slopes of the dune I saw the white daisies go down to the sea, A host in the sunshine, an army in June, The people God sends us to set our hearts free. The bobolinks rallied them up from the dell, The orioles whistled them out of the wood; And all of their saying was, "Earth, it is well!" And all of their dancing was, "Life, thou art good!"

A SURE SIGN by Evaleen Stein When you see upon the walk Circles newly made of chalk, And around them all the day Little boys in eager play Rolling marbles, agates fine, Banded, polished, red as wine, Marbles crystal as the dew, Each with rainbows twisted through, Marbles gay in painted clay, Flashing, twinkling in your way, When the walk has blossomed so, Surely every one must know None need wonder who has heard Robin, wren, or Peter-bird; Sure the sign as song or wing, It is spring! ANOTHER SURE SIGN by Evaleen Stein When pink-cheeked on every hand Little girls are seen to stand Turning skipping ropes,-- swish-swash! While their laughing playmates run Jumping over, oh, what fun! Swish-swash! Swish-swash! Two and two now, see them dash! One, two, one, two, Round they scamper, safely through, Swish-swash! such merry skipping, One, two,--some one is tripping! Ah, she's out now and must pay Turning rope while others play! See the bobbing golden curls, Little skirts in rhythmic swirls Rising, falling, to the beat Of the little skipping feet! When these pretty sights appear, It is surely very clear April's here!





GUESS WHAT I HAVE HEARD by Eliza Lee Follen Dear mother, guess what I have heard! O, it will soon be spring! I'm sure it was a little bird,-- Mother, I heard him sing. Look at this little piece of green That peeps out from the snow, As if it wanted to be seen,-- 'Twill soon be spring, I know. And O, come here, come here and look! How fast it runs along!-- Here is a cunning little brook; O, hear its pretty song! I know 'tis glad the winter's gone That kept it all so still, For now it merrily runs on, And goes just where it will. I feel just like the brook, I know; It says, it seems to me,-- "Good by, cold weather, ice, and snow; Now girls and brooks are free." I love to think of what you said, Mother, to me last night, Of this great world that God has made, So beautiful and bright. And now it is the happy spring No naughty thing I'll do; I would not be the only thing That is not happy, too.

SPRING by Eliza Lee Follen Hark! the little birds are singing,-- Winter's gone and summer's near; See, the tender grass is springing, And the flowers will soon be here. Who made the winter and the spring? Who painted all the flowers? Who taught the little birds to sing, And made these hearts of ours? O, 'tis God! how good he is! He does every blessing give; All this happy world is his,-- Let us love him while we live.

LITTLE MARY by Eliza Lee Follen Little Mary was good; The weather was fair; She went with her mother To taste the fresh air. The birds they were singing; Mary chatted away; And she was as happy And merry as they.





TO SPRING by Eliza Lee Follen Hail! reviving, joyous Spring, Smiling through thy veil of showers; Birds and brooks thy welcome sing,-- Haste, and waken all thy flowers. Hark! a sweet pervading sound! From the breathing, moving earth Life is starting all around, Sending joy and fragrance forth. O'er the oak's gigantic form Blossoms hang their drapery; Branches that defied the storm Now are full of melody. There is not a silent thing In this joyous company; Woods, and hills, and valleys ring With a shout of jubilee. Wake, my spirit! art thou still? Senseless things have found a voice; Shall this throbbing heart be still, When all nature cries, "Rejoice"? Wake, come forth, my bounding soul! Join the universal glee, Yield to nature's kind control, Catch her heavenly harmony. Join the grateful, happy throng, Cast each selfish care away; Birds and brooks shall tune your song; This is nature's holiday.

WAITING TO GROW by Frank French Little white snowdrop just waking up, Violet, daisy, and sweet buttercup, Think of the flowers that are under the snow, Waiting to grow! And think what a number of queer little seeds, Of flowers and mosses, of ferns and of weeds, Are under the leaves and under the snow, Waiting to grow! Think of the roots getting ready to sprout, Reaching their slender brown fingers about, Under the ice and the leaves and the snow, Waiting to grow! No seed is so small, or hidden so well, That God cannot find it; and soon he will tell His sun where to shine, and His rain where to go, Making it grow!





THE BLUEBIRD by Emily Huntington Miller I know the song that the bluebird is singing, Out in the apple-tree where he is swinging: Brave little fellow! the skies may be dreary: Nothing cares he while his heart is so cheery. Hark! how the music leaps out from his throat-- Hark! was there ever so merry a note? Listen awhile, and you'll hear what he's saying, Up in the apple-tree, swinging and swaying. "Dear little blossoms, down under the snow, You must be weary of winter, I know; Hark while I sing you a message of cheer-- Summer is coming! and spring-time is here! "Little white snowdrop! I pray you, arise; Bright yellow crocus! come, open your eyes; Sweet little violets, hid from the cold, Put on your mantles of purple and gold: Daffodils! daffodils! say, do you hear?-- Summer is coming! and spring-time is here!"

DANDELION CURLS by Evaleen Stein Ah, ha, ha, now! who comes here Wreathed in flowers of gold and queer Tiny tangled curls of green Gayly bobbing in between? Pretty token of the spring! Hark! we hear the bluebirds sing When we thus see little girls Decked in dandelion curls. THE DANDELIONS by Helen Gray Cone Upon a showery night and still, Without a sound of warning, A trooper band surprised the hill, And held it in the morning. We were not waked by bugle notes No cheer our dreams invaded, And yet, at dawn, their yellow coats On the green slopes paraded. We careless folk the deed forgot; Till one day, idly walking, We marked upon the self-same spot A crowd of veterans, talking. They shook their trembling heads and gray, With pride and noiseless laughter, When, well-a-day! they blew away, And ne'er were heard of after. SONG FROM "PIPPA PASSES." by Robert Browning The year's at the spring, And day's at the morn; Morning's at seven; The hill-side's dew-pearled; The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn: God's in his heaven-- All's right with the world.





AN APRIL DAY by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow When the warm sun, that brings Seed-time and harvest, has returned again, 'Tis sweet to visit the still wood, where springs The first flower of the plain. I love the season well, When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell The coming-on of storms. From the earth's loosened mould The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives; Though stricken to the heart with winter's cold, The drooping tree revives. The softly-warbled song Comes from the pleasant woods, and colored wings Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along The forest openings. When the bright sunset fills The silver woods with light, the green slope throws Its shadows in the hollows of the hills, And wide the upland glows. And when the eve is born, In the blue lake the sky, o'er-reaching far, Is hollowed out, and the moon dips her horn, And twinkles many a star. Inverted in the tide, Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw, And the fair trees look over, side by side, And see themselves below. Sweet April!--many a thought Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed; Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, Life's golden fruit is shed.

A BUSY DAY by Anonymous The bluff March wind set out from home Before the peep of day, But nobody seemed to be glad he had come, And nobody asked him to stay. Yet he dried up the snow-banks far and near, And made the snow-clouds roll, Huddled up in a heap, like driven sheep, Way off to the cold North Pole. He broke the ice on the river's back And floated it down the tide, And the wild ducks came with a loud "Quack, quack," To play in the waters wide. He snatched the hat off Johnny's head And rolled it on and on, And oh, what a merry chase it led Little laughing and scampering John! He swung the tree where the squirrel lay Too late in its winter bed, And he seemed to say in his jolly way, "Wake up, little sleepy head!" He dried the yard so that Rob and Ted Could play at marbles there, And he painted their cheeks a carmine red With the greatest skill and care. He shook all the clothes-lines, one by one, What a busy time he had! But nobody thanked him for all he had done; Now wasn't that just too bad?





THE FLOWERS by Robert Louis Stevenson All the names I know from nurse: Gardener's garters, Shepherd's purse, Bachelor's buttons, Lady's smock, And the Lady Hollyhock. Fairy places, fairy things, Fairy woods where the wild bee wings, Tiny trees for tiny dames-- These must all be fairy names! Tiny woods below whose boughs Shady fairies weave a house; Tiny tree-tops, rose or thyme, Where the braver fairies climb! Fair are grown-up people's trees, But the fairest woods are these; Where, if I were not so tall, I should live for good and all. THE FOUR WINDS by Frank Dempster Sherman In winter, when the wind I hear, I know the clouds will disappear; For 'tis the wind who sweeps the sky And piles the snow in ridges high. In spring, when stirs the wind, I know That soon the crocus buds will show; For 'tis the wind who bids them wake And into pretty blossoms break. In summer, when it softly blows, Soon red I know will be the rose; For 'tis the wind to her who speaks, And brings the blushes to her cheeks. In autumn, when the wind is up, I know the acorn's out its cup; For 'tis the wind who takes it out, And plants an oak somewhere about.

THE WIND by Robert Louis Stevenson I saw you toss the kites on high And blow the birds about the sky; And all around I heard you pass, Like ladies' skirts across the grass-- O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song! I saw the different things you did, But always you yourself you hid. I felt you push, I heard you call, I could not see yourself at all-- O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song! O you that are so strong and cold, O blower, are you young or old? Are you a beast of field and tree, Or just a stronger child than me? O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!





THE VOICE OF SPRING by Mary Howitt I am coming, I am coming! Hark! the little bee is humming; See, the lark is soaring high In the blue and sunny sky; And the gnats are on the wing, Wheeling round in airy ring. See, the yellow catkins cover All the slender willows over! And on the banks of mossy green Starlike primroses are seen; And, their clustering leaves below, White and purple violets blow. Hark! the new-born lambs are bleating, And the cawing rooks are meeting In the elms,--a noisy crowd; All the birds are singing loud; And the first white butterfly In the sunshine dances by. Look around thee, look around! Flowers in all the fields abound; Every running stream is bright; All the orchard trees are white; And each small and waving shoot Promises sweet flowers and fruit. Turn thine eyes to earth and heaven: God for thee the spring has given, Taught the birds their melodies, Clothed the earth, and cleared the skies, For thy pleasure or thy food: Pour thy soul in gratitude.

WISHING by William Allingham Ring ting! I wish I were a Primrose, A bright yellow Primrose, blowing in the spring! The stooping bough above me, The wandering bee to love me, The fern and moss to creep across, And the Elm-tree for our king! Nay,--stay! I wish I were an Elm-tree, A great lofty Elm-tree, with green leaves gay! The winds would set them dancing, The sun and moonshine glance in, And birds would house among the boughs, And sweetly sing. Oh--no! I wish I were a Robin,-- A Robin, or a little Wren, everywhere to go, Through forest, field, or garden, And ask no leave or pardon, Till winter comes with icy thumbs To ruffle up our wing! Well,--tell! where should I fly to, Where go sleep in the dark wood or dell? Before the day was over, Home must come the rover, For mother's kiss,--sweeter this Than any other thing.





THE SPRING WALK by Thomas Miller We had a pleasant walk to-day Over the meadows and far away, Across the bridge by the water-mill, By the woodside and up the hill; And if you listen to what I say, I'll tell you what we saw to-day. Amid a hedge, where the first leaves Were peeping from their sheathes so sly, We saw four eggs within a nest, And they were blue as a summer sky. An elder branch dipped in the brook; We wondered why it moved, and found A silken-haired smooth water-rat Nibbling, and swimming round and round. Where daisies open'd to the sun, In a broad meadow, green and white, The lambs were racing eagerly-- We never saw a prettier sight. We saw upon the shady banks Long rows of golden flowers shine, And first mistook for buttercups The star-shaped yellow celandine. Anemones and primroses, And the blue violets of spring, We found, while listening by a hedge To hear a merry plowman sing. And from the earth the plow turned up There came a sweet, refreshing smell, Such as the lily of the vale Sends forth from many a woodland dell. And leaning from the old stone bridge, Below, we saw our shadows lie; And through the gloomy arches watched The swift and fearless swallows fly.

continued We heard the speckle-breasted lark As it sang somewhere out of sight, And tried to find it, but the sky Was filled with clouds of dazzling light. We saw young rabbits near the woods And heard the pheasant's wings go "whir"; And then we saw a squirrel leap From an old oak tree to a fir. We came back by the village fields, A pleasant walk it was across 'em, For all behind the houses lay The orchards red and white with blossom. Were I to tell you all we saw, I'm sure that it would take me hours; For the whole landscape was alive With bees, and birds, and buds, and flowers.





THE BABY'S RIDE by Evaleen Stein Chee! Chee! Chickadee! Sing-time and sun! Aye, aye, baby-bye, Springtime has begun! In the little willow cart, On a downy bed, Pretty parasol of silk Swinging overhead, Let us go along the lane Where a baby sees Mighty tufts of grass, and weeds Tall as forest trees! Bluebird on the apple-bough, Sing and sing and sing! Sing your very sweetest now For babyhood and spring! "Bah! Bah!" from the pasture, And "Caw! Caw!" from the crow, And bleating from the little calf That has not learned to low. Apple-buds, apple-buds breaking apart, The baby looks upward with love-laden gaze; Oh, shower some petals down here in his cart, One honey-sweet cluster of pretty pink sprays! Apple-buds, apple-buds, scornful and too Vain of your loveliness, stay where you are! The cheeks of the baby are pinker than you, And finer and softer and sweeter by far! See the pretty little lambs, How they frisk and play! See their silky fleeces shine White as buds in May! White as are the fleecy clouds Softly blowing by-- What if they were little lambs Playing in the sky?

continued Robin on the peach-bough, Swinging overhead, Sing a little song and say Why is your breast so red? Why is your voice so sweet, and Your song so merry, say? And wherefore do you spread your wings And quickly fly away? Ho, ho! see the queer little prints there That cover the road, baby, look! At the web-footed tangle that hints where The ducks have gone down to the brook! The Muscovy mammas that waddled Zigzag, you can trace in their tracks, And the dear little ducklings that toddled And tumbled sometimes on their backs! Buttercup, buttercup, buttercup gold, O give us a handful of riches to hold! Ho, ho! laughs the baby, and grasps in his glee His wealth, but soon shows what a spend-thrift is he! Nay, nay, he is king, though he never was crowned, And royally scatters his gold on the ground! Bough of the willow-tree Over the brook, Down darts a kingfisher, Look, baby, look! Back on the willow-bough, Fishing is done; Happy and nappy now There in the sun. Happy and nappy the baby is, too, Softly his eyelids droop over the blue, Golden his curls on the white pillow lie, Sleep, baby, sleep, baby, hush-a-by-bye.





NEST EGGS by Robert Louis Stevenson Birds all the sunny day Flutter and quarrel, Here in the arbour-like Tent of the laurel. Here in the fork The brown nest is seated; Four little blue eggs The mother keeps heated. While we stand watching her, Staring like gabies, Safe in each egg are the Bird's little babies. Soon the frail eggs they shall Chip, and upspringing Make all the April woods Merry with singing. Younger than we are, O children, and frailer, Soon in blue air they'll be, Singer and sailor. We, so much older, Taller and stronger, We shall look down on the Birdies no longer. They shall go flying With musical speeches High overhead in the Tops of the beeches. In spite of our wisdom And sensible talking, We on our feet must go Plodding and walking.

TIME TO RISE by Robert Louis Stevenson A birdie with a yellow bill Hopped upon the window sill, Cocked his shining eye and said: "Ain't you 'shamed, you sleepy-head?"

A Child of Spring by Ellen Robena Field I know a little maiden, She is very fair and sweet, As she trips among the grasses That kiss her dainty feet; Her arms are full of flowers, The snow-drops, pure and white, Timid blue-eyed violets, And daffodillies bright. She loves dear Mother Nature, And wanders by her side; She beckons to the birdlings That flock from far and wide. She wakes the baby brooklets, Soft breezes hear her call; She tells the little children The sweetest tales of all. Her brow is sometimes clouded, And she sighs with gentle grace, Till the sunbeams, daring lovers, Kiss the teardrops from her face. Well we know this dainty maiden, For April is her name; And we welcome her with gladness, As the springtime comes again.





Easter Carol by Ellen Robena Field The world is filled with gladness; The bells of Easter ring; Each pure white lily's waking, To welcome infant spring. Oh, dear little children, listen, And hear what the glad bells say! The sweetest chime they ever rang-- "Our Lord is risen to-day!" Birds are flying across the sky; Their songs ring through the air; They carol of the Father's love He shows us everywhere. Oh, dear little children, listen, And hear what the birdlings say! The sweetest song they ever sang-- "Our Lord is risen to-day!"

THE SWING by Robert Louis Stevenson How do you like to go up in a swing, Up in the air so blue? Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing Ever a child can do! Up in the air and over the wall, Till I can see so wide, Rivers and trees and cattle and all Over the countryside-- Till I look down on the garden green, Down on the roof so brown-- Up in the air I go flying again, Up in the air and down! THE BEAUTIFUL SPRING by George Cooper "I was here first," said the snowdrop: "look!" "Not before me!" sang the silver brook. "Why," cried the grass, "I've been here a week!" "So have I, dear," sighed a violet meek. "Well," piped a bluebird, "don't leave me out! I saw the snow that lay round about." "Yes," chirped a snowbird, "that may be true; But I've seen it all the bleak winter through." "I came betimes," sang the southwind, "I!" "After me, love!" spake the deep blue sky. "Who is it cares?" chimed the crickets gay: "Now you are here, let us hope you'll stay." Whispered the sun, "Lo! the winter's past: What does it matter who's first or last? Sky, brooks, and flowers, and birdies that sing, All help to make up the beautiful spring."





DAISY NURSES by Anonymous The daisies white are nursery maids with frills upon their caps; And daisy buds are little babes they tend upon their laps. Sing "Heigh-ho!" while the winds sweep low, Both nurses and babies are nodding JUST SO. The daisy babies never cry, the nurses never scold; They never crush the dainty frills about their cheeks of gold; But pure and white, in gay sunlight They're nid-nodding--pretty sight. The daisies love the golden sun, upon the clear blue sky, He gazes kindly down on them and winks his jolly eye; While soft and low, all in a row, Both nurses and babies are nodding JUST SO.

DANDELIONS by Anonymous There surely is a gold mine somewhere underneath the grass, For dandelions are popping out in every place you pass. But if you want to gather some you'd better not delay, For the gold will turn to silver soon and all will blow away.

Spring by Celia Thaxter The alder by the river Shakes out her powdery curls; The willow buds in silver For little boys and girls. The little birds fly over And oh, how sweet they sing! To tell the happy children That once again 'tis spring. The gay green grass comes creeping So soft beneath their feet; The frogs begin to ripple A music clear and sweet. And buttercups are coming, And scarlet columbine, And in the sunny meadows The dandelions shine. And just as many daisies As their soft hands can hold The little ones may gather, All fair in white and gold. Here blows the warm red clover, There peeps the violet blue; O happy little children! God made them all for you.





AN APRIL DAY by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow When the warm sun, that brings Seed-time and harvest, has returned again, 'Tis sweet to visit the still wood, where springs The first flower of the plain. I love the season well, When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell The coming-on of storms. From the earth's loosened mould The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives; Though stricken to the heart with winter's cold, The drooping tree revives. The softly-warbled song Comes from the pleasant woods, and colored wings Glance quick in the bright sun, that moves along The forest openings. When the bright sunset fills The silver woods with light, the green slope throws Its shadows in the hollows of the hills, And wide the upland glows. And when the eve is born, In the blue lake the sky, o'er-reaching far, Is hollowed out, and the moon dips her horn, And twinkles many a star. Inverted in the tide, Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw, And the fair trees look over, side by side, And see themselves below. Sweet April!--many a thought Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed; Nor shall they fail, till, to its autumn brought, Life's golden fruit is shed.

DANDELIONS by Frances E. W. Harper Welcome children of the Spring, In your garbs of green and gold, Lifting up your sun-crowned heads On the verdant plain and wold. As a bright and joyous troop From the breast of earth ye came Fair and lovely are your cheeks, With sun-kisses all aflame. In the dusty streets and lanes, Where the lowly children play, There as gentle friends ye smile, Making brighter life's highway Dewdrops and the morning sun, Weave your garments fair and bright, And we welcome you to-day As the children of the light. Children of the earth and sun. We are slow to understand All the richness of the gifts Flowing from our Father's hand.





EARLY SPRING by Alfred Tennyson Once more the Heavenly Power Makes all things new, And domes the red-plow'd hills With loving blue; The blackbirds have their wills, The throstles too. Opens a door in Heaven; From skies of glass A Jacob's ladder falls On greening grass, And o'er the mountain-walls Young angels pass. Before them fleets the shower, And bursts the buds, And shine the level lands, And flash the floods; The stars are from their hands Flung thro' the woods.

continued The woods with living airs How softly fann'd, Light airs from where the deep, All down the sand, Is breathing in his sleep, Heard by the land. O follow, leaping blood, The season's lure! O heart, look down and up Serene, secure. Warm as the crocus cup, Like snowdrops, pure! Past, Future, glimpse and fade Thro' some slight spell, A gleam from yonder vale, Some far blue fell, And sympathies, how frail, In sound and smell. Till at thy chuckled note, Thou twinkling bird, The fairy fancies range, And, lightly stirr'd, Ring little bells of change From word to word. For now the Heavenly Power Makes all things new, And thaws the cold, and fills The flower with dew; The blackbirds have their wills, The poets too.



classic spring poems - elementary and middle school...pattern based writing: quick & easy essay...

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